


My Best Friend The Dark Lord

by pupeez4eva



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Humor, Old fic that probably won't be continued :(
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2018-11-02 22:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10954101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pupeez4eva/pseuds/pupeez4eva
Summary: Italy decides that he wants to make new friends, which is great and all, except for one little problem - his new 'best friend' is Voldemort. Now it's up to Romano and Germany to find him and bring him home, before everything goes to hell.





	1. Italy Meets His Latest Victim

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately this is a really old fic of mine that I never got around to finishing, and it's unlikely that it will ever be continued. However if you want to read what I do have, I've got the first 5 chapters written up :)

"I just realized something," Italy said, suddenly.

Germany glanced up, looking annoyed. He was already, to put it bluntly, thoroughly pissed by the events of the entire day - and seeing that most of that day had been spent sitting through a World Conference, this was no surprise.

"What?" Germany ground out, his eyes flickering briefly back to the current speaker - America. Dear lord...there were idiots everywhere he turned.

"You're my best friend," Italy told him, interrupting his current angsty line of thought.

"So you've told me," Germany muttered.

"And I love Japan too!" Italy chirped, smiling widely. "He's my friend - and then there's my fratello too! But...he only loves me because he _has_ to -"

"I don't fucking love you, bastard," Romano snapped from nearby.

Italy giggled. "Romano is so funny!" He sobered up. "And then...Spain is nice to me...and France too. But then, they're sort of like family, aren't they? Austria and Hungary too."

"Italy," Germany sighed. "Is there a point to this?"

"I'm just saying...I don't have many friends!" Italy's lower lip began to tremble; Germany was sure that if his eyes were actually opened, they'd probably be tearing up by now. "That's not very good, is it Germany?"

"It's fine Italy."

"No it's not!" Italy shook his head, vehemently. "It means there's something wrong with me -"

Romano snorted. "He's just figuring that out now?"

Germany silently agreed with the statement, although he knew that stating so out loud would do nothing but earn him a tirade of verbal abuse.

" - People don't want to be my friend!" Italy continued to wail. "No one loves me!"

Hungary, who had been sitting nearby and chatting cheerily with Poland, suddenly whipped around with surprising force, as if she had been waiting for this moment.

She narrowed her eyes, staring at Germany expectantly.

Germany stared back, blankly.

 _"Italy!"_ Hungary cried loudly, never removing her eyes from Germany. "Don't worry sweetie, I love you! You're too adorable not to love!"

"You have plenty of people who love you!" She continued, her eyes narrowing dangerously in Germany's direction.

Germany shifted in his chair uneasily, wondering what the hell was going on.

"Especially one person who is _very_ important to you - isn't that right _GERMANY?!"_

Germany coughed. "...Yes."

"I can't hear you!"

"Yes, yes!" Germany snapped, dragging his eyes away from the crazed women. Dammit, couldn't there be one _normal_ nation in the room other than himself?

Hungary beamed. "Excellent! I'm glad all that's cleared up!" She turned back to Poland and Germany could hear her giggling, "I am _so_ going to be the one walking Italy down the isle!"

Germany grimaced and decided that no, he would always be surrounded by lunatics.

"Thank you, Germany!" Italy said, beaming at him widely. "I love you too!"

Germany shot a brief glare at Hungary's back.

"But...I think I need more friends!" Italy let out a loud sigh and stared imploringly at Germany. "Don't get me wrong - you're my best friend and I'll always love you with extra, extra love! But...I think I need to find some more friends!"

"Italy -"

" - In fact, I think I'll go out right now and find some!"

Germany paused at that. "...You're leaving?"

"Yes!" Italy beamed, widely. "Don't miss me too much though - I'll be right back!"

Germany's eyes widened. "Oh no," he said, hurriedly. "Don't worry at all! Take as much time as you need!"

Italy's smile grew wider. "Thank you Germany! You're such a kind and considerate friend!"

He pranced out of the room, still declaring his love for Germany as the door closed behind him.

Hungary giggled. "Oh I am _so_ walking him down the isle - and he'll be wearing a wedding dress even if I have to _force_ him into it!

...

Voldemort hurried away from the house he had just attacked, hiding his glee behind a mask of cold indifference. After all, he couldn't let his emotions slip - well, any emotion other than anger or malice. An angry Voldemort made people want to crap their pants - a happy Voldemort didn't. It was as simple as that.

It didn't matter either way - he may have been menacing on the outside, but on the inside he was simply _dancing._ It was like a little carnival going off in his head - and since it was in his head, _no one_ would ever know.

(Voldemort was completely oblivious to the fact that right at that moment, Harry Potter was sitting on his bed and wondering why the _hell_ he was feeling sudden bursts of happiness as his scar burned).

Voldemort had left his Death Eaters behind at the house of the latest family he'd slaughtered, to deal with the mess - after all, the fun was over. As the Dark Lord and future ruler of the universe, Voldemort was entitled to certain things.

"Stupid worthless muggles," he laughed (it was in a menacing voice, so it was alright). "I showed them! I, Lord Voldemort, shall wipe this Earth free of any and all Mudbloods...I shall rule over _everything._ I shall -"

"Ve...that's a pretty skull, don't you think?"

Voldemort blinked, staring at the man in front of him and wondering where the _hell_ he had appeared from. His eyes drew over to the odd little curl sticking up from the mans head - it was slightly disconcerting.

"I like the way it glows," he giggled.

Voldemort followed his line of sight, his eyes landing on the Dark Mark glowing in the sky, which he'd placed over the latest house that he'd attacked.

"...You think the Dark Mark is pretty?" Voldemort repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"Is that what it's called?" the man giggled again. "What a funny name! It even rhymes!"

Voldemort's eyes narrowed into slits. "You...you think the Dark Mark is _funny?!"_ he spat.

"Ve - yes!" The man beamed, widely.

"Do you have _any_ idea what it means?!" Voldemort snarled. "What it stands for?!"

"No I...wait!" The man's eyes widened. "Did you make it?! You did, didn't you?! Oh my...you're so talented!"

"I am wiping this earth clean of the influence of Mudbloods and other unworthy pieces of trash," Voldemort growled, menacingly.

The man continued to smile, much to Voldemort's frustration.

"Well, okay," he said. "I don't know what you said but it didn't sound too nice..." He shrugged. "You're a good artist though!"

Voldemort's eye twitched slightly.

"Could you teach me how to do that?" the man continued. "I mean, it's just floating there, in the sky! How does it do that?!"

Voldemort took a deep breath and, thinking calming thoughts (like the image of Potter tied to a stick with an apple in his mouth, and being roasted over an open fire) he reached into his cloak and pulled out his wand.

"Is it some kind of British paint? I'll bet it is!" The man nodded his head, enthusiastically. "British people are so weird, don't you think? The food, and now the paint -"

Voldemort pointed his wand.

" - It's like entering a whole different planet - ve, what are you doing with that stick?" The man frowned in confusion; then he suddenly beamed even wider than before (Voldemort hadn't thought that to be possible). " _Oh -_ are you going to show me how you made the -"

_"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

Voldemort watched in glee as the beloved green light whizzed towards it's bewildered target; he savored the moment, looking forward to the sound of the body dropping to the floor...

...Which never happened.

Voldemort stared blankly, wondering if he'd missed something.

"...You're still alive," he said, slowly. He frowned; he _had_ to have missed something. Perhaps the spell hadn't hit it's target? Maybe? Perhaps?

"I don't see any skulls anywhere," the man said, frowning. "I don't think it worked properly."

No that couldn't be right. His aim, as usual, had been _perfect._ There was no _way_ he could have missed!

...So how was he still alive?

"You...you... _huh?!"_ Voldemort felt his hands clenching into fists. _"WHY AREN'T YOU DEAD?!"_

"Yes - I really don't think it - wait!" The man's eyes widened. "Whose dead?!"

"You...you aren't dead."

The man giggled. "Well of course not, silly!"

What...how. How the hell had - why was - how - Voldemort continued to stare at the man in front of him, wondering if he was losing his mind. No - no he was the great Lord Voldemort! He couldn't lose his mind - it was one those rare things that he had that Dumbledore didn't!

No...he wasn't losing his mind. It just wasn't _possible._ Which meant...the man in front of him had survived the killing curse.

While a part of Voldemort screamed, _"holy shit, not another Potter!"_ another part of him rubbed it's hands deviously, acknowledging the advantages of it. If this man had a method of overcoming death, then Voldemort wanted to know.

"You're coming with me!" he snarled, striding forward.

The man frowned slightly, looking uncertain. "Well...I have ot get back soon or else Ger - er, my friend will get worried -"

Ignoring him, Voldemort grabbed onto his arm.

"...But I guess I told him where I was going, so he won't be mad, right? I don't want him to get mad at me - I hate doing extra laps! We Italians are made for cooking, and painting, and waving white flags, not -"

With a sigh of annoyance Voldemort apparated away, dragging the man (who he had now deduced to be insane) with him.


	2. The Worry Free Lives of Germany & Romano

Germany was having a brilliant day - in fact, his entire _week_ had been brilliant. Ever since the world conference in England, Italy seemed to have left the picture; Germany figured that he had either gone home or was bothering one of the other nations - either way, it left him in peace. He still had Prussia to deal with, but it was better than having to put up with both of the menaces in his life.

A knock on the door brought him out of his reverie. Germany stood up and walked over, silently praying that he hadn't jinxed himself with his thoughts of Italy's absence.

He opened the door, surprised to see Romano standing on the other side.

"Alright bastard," growled the other nation, as Germany silently cursed his luck. Was Romano better than Italy? Germany didn't know and he was sure that solving the issue would take hours, if not _days_ of intense deliberation, and perhaps the help of some of the best minds in the country. Even then, Germany wasn't sure the matter could be solved...

"Pay fucking attention!" Romano snapped, dragging Germany out of his musings. Meeting the blonde's irate stare, he spat, "where's my idiot brother, huh?!"

Germany blinked. "What?"

"I said," Romano ground out, "where is that idiot?! I'm going to give the bastard a piece of my mind - he can waste his life with fuckers like you if he wants, but he should at least tell me where he is!"

Germany stared. "...He's not with you?"

"No you idiot!" Romano glared at him. "How can he be with me if he's with you?!"

"He's not with me!"

There was a moment of silence.

"...You think I'm dumb enough to believe that crap?!" Coming out of his brief state of surprise, Romano returned to his previous vindictive stance. "Che - I want to know where my idiot brother is!"

"Hey Romano," Prussia said, wandering into the room. Germany internally winced, wondering what he had done in his life that was bad enough for him to deserve all of this (he then remembered; _a lot_ of things).

"Fuck you, Brother-of-Potato-Bastard!" Romano spat.

"I'm awesome and you are not," Prussia responded, opening the fridge and pulling out a beer.

 _'My last beer,'_ Germany thought, his hands twitching slightly. _'Don't think about strangling him, don't think about strangling him...'_ How was it that just moments before, he'd been preoccupied with thoughts about how brilliant his life was?

"Are you telling me that Italy isn't with you?" he asked Romano, almost afraid of the answer. "That you haven't seen him since the meeting?!" He paused, quickly adding, "not that I'm worried or anything."

"What the fuck bastard?!" Romano spat. "Are you trying to say that I'm worried?! I'm not fucking worried about that idiot! I just don't want him picking up any potato-germs and bringing them back home! That's all, dammit!"

"I never hinted at that!" Germany protested, defensively. "...And I'm not worried either!"

"You already fucking said that," Romano groused.

"I just wanted to make myself clear!"

Prussia, from his current position on the sofa, snorted and rolled his eyes, taking a swig of his beer.

"...So he really isn't here?" Romano narrowed his eyes and gazed suspiciously into the house.

"No."

"...He's not hiding in the bedroom or anything?" Romano still looked unconvinced.

"No," Germany repeated.

"...Don't think I'm worried."

"I'm not."

"Good," Romano spat, crossing his arms in a defensive motion "Cause I'm fucking not. I don't get worried."

"I don't either," Germany responded, with a curt nod of his head. "It's all part of being a good soldier."

Romano snorted. "Shut the fuck up Potato Bastard."

There was a moment of silence; Prussia looked on and let out another snort.

"...Do you think he might be with Japan?" Germany asked, interrupting the silence in an awkward, hesitant voice.

"Nah," Romano responded, flapping his hand dismissively in a way that eerily resembled Poland. "I called that bastard before I came here. I was hoping that my idiot brother might be there - better than him spending time around you. Unfortunately, he wasn't."

"Oh..." Germany coughed, forcing himself to take on an unconcerned stance. "Well then, maybe Hungary and Austria?"

"Nope," Romano replied. "Checked with them too."

"France?"

Romano winced. "I fucking hope not."

Germany silently agreed.

"...Not because I'm worried or anything," Romano added, quickly. "I just don't want that creep molesting my brother and getting him pregnant or something."

"...Italy is a man Romano," Germany said, slowly.

Romano glared. "Fuck you."

"...You know," Germany said, suddenly, his eyes widening slightly. "It is possible that Italy...never left England."

Prussia hummed the theme music of 'Jaws' - the other two nations chose to ignore him, although Romano's eye _did_ twitch spasmodically (although, seeing that it had a tendency to do that whenever he was in a less than satisfactory situation - such as being within a ten mile radius of Germany - there was no proof that it was because of Prussia).

"You think he's with Eyebrows?" Romano asked, once he had regained control of himself.

"No," Germany responded, "I said he might not have left England. In fact, he could be anywhere right now."

Romano blinked. "Oh, well...uh...that's not exactly a bad thing...right?" He shuffled, uncomfortably.

"No!" Germany responded, in a forced cheerful tone. "It means he'll be out of our hair for a while."

"Oh...well that's great!" Romano forced a smile onto his face.

"Holy fuck," Prussia whispered, finishing the last his beer and looking on in morbid fascination. "Horror movies - _they_ are the career path for you."

"I mean, yeah, great!" Romano's smile twitched in an attempt to grow wider. "I mean, he's not with you, and he's out of my life, so uh...yeah..."

"I'm thrilled," Germany said, although the look in his eyes said otherwise.

"So am I bastard!" Romano snarled, the smile disappearing, immediately replaced with a murderous expression. "What, are you trying to say that I'm not?!"

"No -"

"You guys are worried," Prussia interrupted. "Stop being unawesome losers, I can totally tell."

"Shut up Bruder," Germany snapped.

"No seriously," Prussia retorted. "It's almost painful to watch."

"I'm not fucking worried!" Romano snarled.

"Oh, you definitely are." Prussia's lips curled into a grin. "Please, your happy expressions are so terrible that they make the awesome invincible being that is _me_ cringe - and that should be pretty much impossible, _sooo."_

"Bruder, we aren't worried," Germany growled.

"The fuck, Potato Bastard?!" Romano snarled. "Are you trying to insinuate that I'm a bad brother?!"

Germany gaped at him, wondering if the other nation was bipolar.

"Fine then," Prussia responded, shrugging his shoulders. "So you aren't worried - okay, I guess the awesome me can understand that. I mean, Italy's only gone and gotten himself lost in some strange, foreign country -"

"It's England," Germany cut in, rolling his eyes. "It isn't _that_ strange."

"Oh please!" Prussia snorted. "Have you _seen_ the food they have there?! Italy'll be lucky to make it out alive."

Germany rolled his eyes. "You're being overdramatic."

"Sure, sure, if that's what you want to believe," Prussia replied. "Like I said, I'm sure Italy will be fine. He might be scared - you know how he is. I mean, he's probably over there now, bawling his eyes out in some dark alleyway, unaware of any possible dangers in the cold, dark, daunting, horribly-fucking- _horrible_ eyebrow-filled streets of England -"

"Why an alleyway?!" Romano demanded.

Prussia shrugged. "Hey, I'm not the one who chose to go there - why?" He grinned slightly. "Are you worried?"

"No!" Romano shot back. "I just don't like alleyways, that's all!"

Prussia stared at him.

"Stop staring at me!" Romano yelled. "You'll...you'll transmit potato germs or something! Come on, stop it, dammit, stop!"

"I'm sure that's what Italy's saying right at this moment," Prussia sang.

The wood of the doorway splintered under Germany's firm grip.

"...Okay, strong reaction, but eh, if it works..." Prussia muttered.

"Maybe it couldn't hurt to go and check on him," Germany murmured, trying to hide the anxiety in his voice. "I mean, Italy _does_ have a habit of getting himself into bad situations..."

"I'm coming too!" Romano growled. "I can't trust _you_ with my brother after all - doesn't mean I'm worried or anything!"

"And I'm coming too!" Prussia responded, hurling the empty beer bottle through the air. "Just let me go pack some of my awesome stuff before we go!"

"Hold on!" Germany cut him off. "Where do you think _you're_ going - this isn't some big vacation, we're just going to make sure that Italy hasn't gotten himself killed. You don't have to come."

"I know I don't _have_ to come," Prussia responded, rolling his eyes. "I _want_ to - plus, my presence will make the trip so much more awesome!"

"No," Germany responded.

"What the fuck?!" Prussia moaned. "It was my awesome skills at convincing that got you to agree to this - you _have_ to let me go!"

"He isn't fucking coming," Romano ground out. "It's bad enough that I have to put up with _you."_

"He isn't coming," Germany assured him.

"Then why the hell did I just waste my precious time convincing you to _go_ to England in the first place?!" the albino howled.

"So that we can bring Italy back..." Germany's eyebrows drew up slightly.

"Oh shut up West, you know that wasn't my intention," Prussia snorted. "I mean, I love Italy and all, but _seriously -_ I need a goddamn vacation!"

"It's amazing how noble you are, Bruder," Germany said, rolling his eyes.

"Do you _know_ how agonizing it is to make you two break?!" Prussia howled. "I did _not_ just waste my time doing something that has _no_ benefit towards me what-so-ever. Everything I _do_ is for my awesome self!"

"And _that_ is what you need to tell a fucking psychiatrist," Romano told the furious albino.

Germany thought it was a bit hypocritical of him to tell someone _else_ to see a psychiatrist, but decided not to argue.

"Shall we go?" he asked Romano.

"You're too close," the Italian mumbled, narrowing his eyes in irritation. "Fine," he added, at Germany's inquisitive look. "I swear though, Veneziano better thank me for this."

"Damn you!" Prussia howled, the two left the room and the door slammed shut.

 


	3. 100 Ways to Suffer on a Plane

Voldemort was seriously starting to lose his temper (more so than usual).

In the past week, all he had managed to get out of the man was his name - and "Feliciano Vargas" sure didn't help him much, so he was hardly jumping with joy. Any attempts at questioning that _imbecile_ about _anything_ relating to things that actually mattered fell useless - a question of "so how is it that you're not dead?" would result in an answer of "ve, you are so silly! Of course I'm not dead!"

"How is it you're not dead?" Voldemort ground out, glaring at the man in front of him.

Feliciano beamed widely. "Ve - your are so silly!" he laughed. "Of course I am not dead!"

Voldemort's eye twitched; the pattern had started again. Dammit, he hated deja vu. The first thing he'd do when he became supreme ruler of the universe was ban deja vu. Yes - oh yes. That would be simply _marvelous._

"Ve - do you have any pasta?"

His eye twitched again.

"Excuse me - Mister? _Hello?_ Pasta, maybe? Pasta - I'd really like some pasta. Mister, do you think I could go and make some -"

_"CRUCIO!"_

Voldemort's eyes flamed with a sort of insane madness that he felt far too often - people had, in the past, suggested that he visit a psychiatrist for that little issue, but they had stopped once they'd come to the realization that he would destroy them and everything dear to them if they didn't.

Voldemort leaned forward, eagerly awaiting the sounds of agonized screams coming from the Italian man. Instead, his eyes widened in horror as he realized -

The idiot was _laughing._

"Oh!" he giggled, writhing about on the floor. "It tickles! It tickles, please stop, it tickles!"

"... _Dammit, bring me some veritaserum!"_

...

"Alright," Voldemort panted moments later, once a trembling Wormtail had brought him at least a liter of the liquid. "You - you're going to drink it or else I will end your pitiful existence, understand?!"

"Oh, you're so kind!" cooed Feliciano, reaching out and grasping the bottle. Voldemort blinked in surprised and then brushed it off; as long as the idiot _drank_ it, he really had no issue with how it all transpired.

"This tastes amazing!" gasped the Italian, beaming widely at the bottle he had in his hand. In the next moment he tossed the bottle back, guzzling all of the contents, as if it were water.

Voldemort had to prevent himself from gaping.

 _'You idiot!'_ he wanted to howl, _'don't kill yourself before I have a chance to tear that secret out from you!'_ Fortunately though, the other man seemed perfectly fine - Voldemort didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"What's your name?" he growled, silently praying that he would be able to tear at whatever he could before the idiot died, or vomited up the entire contents of his bowels.

Looking completely fine despite having drunk a liter of veritaserum, Feliciano giggled and said, "Feliciano Vargas - I already told you, silly!"

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "How did you survive the avada kedavra -"

"Avada Kedavra?" Feliciano frowned slightly. "Is that some sort of scary monster?" His eyes widened. "No! Voldemort, protect me from the scary monster! Ve - Germ - I mean Ludwig would usually protect me from the monster, but he isn't here this time..."

_"...WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!"_

...

Romano was seriously pissed - he'd been almost _certain_ that requesting a seat as far away from the Potato Bastard as possible would make the whole nightmare more pleasant. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten that pretty much the whole world hated him, and getting peace and quiet - _especially_ on a _German_ flight - was pretty much impossible.

Still though, that didn't mean he was going to accept this unjustness.

"Sir," sighed the flight attendant whom he was currently arguing with. "For the last time, I can't just -"

"I fucking refuse to sit here!" Romano snarled. "That guy has been annoying the _hell_ out of me -"

"But sir -"

"...It's causing me serious distress, alright?!" Romano's scowl darkened. "I mean, how would you like me to complain about the quality of this flight, huh?!"

The flight attendant tried again. "But -"

Romano cut her off again. "I mean, _come on!_ You bastards _have_ to have ways of dealing with situations when passengers are being harassed by other people on the flight!"

"But -" she shook her head, looking helpless. _"No one_ is harassing you!"

 _"That_ guy -"

"He's _sleeping!"_

"So fucking what, huh?!" Romano spat, shooting said individual - a sleeping old man - a disgusted glance. "Have you _heard_ the way he snores - it's worse than any fucking verbal abuse the idiot could throw at me! I _demand_ that you move me away!"

A woman sitting beside him shot the flight attendant a desperate glance "Please," she said, _"please_ just give him what he wants!"

"We're on our honeymoon, dammit!" howled the male sitting beside her.

...

Germany's eye twitched at the sound of yet _another_ giggle.

"Excuse me miss," he said, glancing at the girl whom he was unfortunate enough to be sitting beside. She glanced up, letting out another giggle as her eyes fell on his face. Germany's eye twitched again.

"Yes _mister?"_ she asked.

Germany winced. "Um..." he coughed. "Why have you been staring at me?"

 _"Oh!"_ The girl beamed. "Well, I'm just committing your image to memory."

Germany blinked, feeling slightly disturbed. "...Why?"

"Oh, funny story! You see -" The girl settled herself into a comfortable position. " - I'm making my own graphic novel, and I reckon you'd be _great_ for one of my main protagonists."

Germany blinked again, unsure of what to say.

"I know right!" The girl didn't seem to mind his silent state. "You don't mind, do you? It's going to be so great, and I bet I'm going to get _famous_ someday - I mean, I've tried before but it never really worked out, and the publishers have always told me to keep dreaming - but hey, fiftieth time's the charm, and maybe now that I'm trying another company they'll actually give me a shot!"

Germany stared.

"Plus," the girl continued to ramble, "this is going to be my first yaoi graphic novel, and when they _see_ some of the stuff I have planned - well let's just say, they won't be able to say no!"

Germany frowned slightly; yaoi. _Where_ had he heard that word before? It sounded so familiar...yaoi...

He froze.

_"Oh yaoi..."_

_"My fantasies of yaoi..."_

_"You and Italy would make the cutest yaoi couple EVER!"_

_"My favourite yaoi manga just posted out a new copy -"_

_"...Yaoi."_

_"Yaoi."_

_"YAOI!"_

_"And once again...it was yaoi."_

With his brain suddenly flooded with an influx of flash-backs of various conversations with Hungary, Germany simply gaped in horror.

...

"Sir," groaned the flight attendant. "What can I do for you _now?!"_

Silently, she wondered why the _hell_ she hadn't listened to her mother and gone to law school.

"I want some fucking peanuts," Romano growled.

She cringed. "Sir, could you _please_ refrain from using that sort of language?" she pleaded.

"Sure thing, bastard."

She cringed again, fighting back a whimper.

 _"Heeeellllooo..."_ Romano drawled, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Peanuts!"

"I'll get them for you," the flight attendant ground out, forcing herself to stay calm. As she turned around to walk away, she overheard the couple sitting beside the _demon_ speaking.

"I'm writing a formal complaint as soon as we get off this thing," the woman was saying.

"It's our damn honeymoon..." was all that the man could manage to say in response.

The flight attendant winced and hurried away.

...

" - I mean, on first glance, you seem like an obvious seme -"

Germany whimpered. "What?"

"But I reckon with a few tweaks we could work wonders with you and turn you into a classic _uke!"_ The girl let out a dreamy sigh.

"What?" Germany repeated, mentally blanching in horror. He didn't know what a oo-key or sey-mey were, but he was sure he had heard Hungary speaking about them before so they _couldn't_ be good.

"Maybe your eyes could be slightly larger..." the girl continued to ramble. "...And maybe your hair could be a bit longer...maybe I can give you a nice fringe as well! And maybe add a bit of wave to it...what do you think?"

Germany could only gape at her.

"I know right?" The girl grinned widely. "This thing is _definitely_ going to fly off the shelves!"

...

"More peanuts, dammit!"

The flight attendants eye twitched.

The man stared despairingly out of the window; his female companion glanced at him, her eyebrows creasing in concern.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Land..." he mumbled. "It's so far away...why does it have to be so far away?!"

The woman pat his arm. "Don't worry," she told him, glancing at her watch. "We only have another - _oh god, no..."_

Romano ignored their horrified whispers and shoved another handful of peanuts into his mouth. "Do you have any drinks?" he demanded though a mouth full of food. "Hey lady - drinks?!"

The flight attendant winced. "I'll get you some, sir."

A loud snore emitted from the elderly man sitting in front of him resulted in a string of curses from Romano.

 _"DAMMIT!"_ he howled. "Is anyone else not seriously going crazy with this guy around?!"

Everyone within a ten mile radius glared at him.

...

"...I'm thinking of calling it 'The Hunk with Luscious Blonde Hair', or maybe 'Goldylocks Gets a Sex Change' but I dunno...what do you think?"

Germany stood up abruptly.

"Um, heeelllooo," the girl said, frowning slightly.

"I'm going to the bathroom," Germany told her, stiffly. Without waiting for a response, he headed of in the opposite direction, and locked himself inside the nearest toilet stall he could find.

He didn't come out for the rest of the flight.


	4. The Perks of Being Voldemort's Bestie

"Worst flight ever, I swear," Romano cursed as he dragged his suitcase behind him through the crowded hallways of the airport. "Those people have the worst quality of service  _ever_ , and the passengers have no consideration for other people what-so-ever."

Germany didn't reply.

"I mean seriously - hey bastard." Romano's voice cut off, and he shot Germany and irritated glance. "Are you listening to me?"

"Heeeey!" called a familiar voice, the owner waving eagerly in Germany's direction. "You over there! Blondie! I'll send you a copy of the novel when I'm done, okay? I mean, I don't know your house, but I'm sure someone like you must be a famous model or something, so you shouldn't be too hard to track down!"

Germany paled dramatically.

Romano frowned. "What the fuck?"

Germany latched onto his arm, keeping his eyes firmly planted on the ground. "Don't look," he said, urgently. "Just keep walking."

"Bastard, get your hands off me!" Romano cried, his face contorting in disgust.

Germany ignored him and continued to walk, letting a shudder wrack his frame. "I swear - never again," he muttered, ignoring Romano's string of curses. "Next time, we're driving."

"As long as we use separate cars," Romano shot back. "And also -  _get your fucking hands off me!"_

Germany removed his hands.

Romano let out a small sigh of relief. He scrubbed furiously at his arms, cringing as he did so.

"Okay bastard," he growled, once he had finished his task. "Let's brainstorm. Where are we supposed to go now?"

Germany shrugged. "Where would Italy most likely be?"

"How the hell should I know?!" Romano snarled, his eyes flashing with sudden rage; for not the first time, Germany found himself wondering if the other nation was 100%...sane.

He let out a small sigh. "I was just saying -"

"What?!" Romano cut him off. "You're trying to say that just because I look like the bastard, I think like him too?!"

"No -"

"I'm my own person dammit!"

Germany clenched his jaw and forced himself to block out Romano's angry ranting; he thought back to the last time he had seen Italy, trying to remember if he had noticed anything strange (well, more strange than usual when it came to Italy).

He froze.

"Romano," he said, slowly.

"What?" The Italian asked, pausing his angry rant to stare at Germany in (angry) curiosity.

"...I think we should start checking police stations."

Romano frowned. "What? Why, bastard?!"

"You know how...persistent Italy can be when it comes to his...friends..."

...

Italy was loving his new best friend.

Lord Voldemort (hehe, he was a Lord - how amazing was that?!) was one of the nicest people that Italy had ever met.

"He even has the same initials as fratello!" Italy giggled. "Lovino Vargas...Lord Voldemort...oh, I just can't wait to introduce the two of them, I think they'll love each other!"

Italy let out a dreamy sigh, imagining the scenario of that little meeting; in his mind, Voldemort and Romano sat around a table, sharing pasta and giggling excessively. In reality...well, the laughter would probably be maniacal screams of rage, and the proceedings probably wouldn't be nearly as pleasant.

Of course, Italy had yet to pick up on that...

Italy thought Voldemort was absolutely brilliant though - the most amazing best friend ever, except for maybe Germany (because no one could beat Germany). Voldemort had given him a new bedroom and everything, and it had the most  _amazing_ barred door, with a brilliant view of the other barred-room in front of him. And the man that lived in that room...sure, he was a little strange and always had weird conversations with himself about how the walls were closing in on him...but he didn't insult Italy, try to kill him, or try to take his land, so Italy considered him a friend!

Voldemort also gave him plenty of food - never pasta, much to his disappointment, but the lumpy mess he received for breakfast, lunch and dinner was probably some sort of Englsh delicacy. Italy wasn't going to complain when his bestie had  _clearly_ tried his best!

...

"It was my idea!" Prussia growled to himself. "I should be the one finding Italy, not my unawsome brother and Italy's unawesome brother!" He leapt to his feet and began to pace up and down.

"I just wanted a stupid holiday," he muttered. "I'm so sick of this stupid house...I bet I could have found Italy way better than those losers..."

His eyes widened.

"You know what," he cried, unbothered by the fact that he was speaking to an empty room (after all, he was awesome enough to pull off a stunt like that and not end up in a mental institution). "Maybe I will! Yeah that's right - I'll head over to England and find Italy before West or that other loser do! That way, everyone will be reminded of how  _awesome_ I am!"

He paused, as if waiting for some sort of applause; he then frowned, remembering something (other than the fact that there was no one to applaud him).

"I need some cash," he muttered, his eyes narrowing in irritation. "Dammit, I miss the days when I was a nation and had a never ending bank account..." He thought for a moment, his expression starting to brighten after a brief interval.

"I know!" he cried. "I'll just get Antonio and Francis to come along, and make them pay for everything!"

He paused again, his expression faltering slightly as he once again realized that there was no one present to praise him for his utter awesomeness.

"...Kesesesese." That's right; his awesome presence was all he needed.

"Oh I am too awesome for words," he muttered.

...

"I don't remember my name anymore," murmured the man opposite to him, staring at Italy with unfocused eyes.

Italy blinked, and then beamed widely.

"Oh, that's alright roomie," he said, cheerily. "I have some very forgetful friends too! It doesn't matter though, we can always get you a new name!"

"...The walls are closing in on me."

"No silly!" Italy giggled. "That's too long to be a name! We need something short - although if you like 'walls' so much, then maybe Wally...what do you think? Hmm? Wally?"

The man's lower lip trembled. "Make it go away..."

Italy beamed. "Wally it is!"

"Keep your goddamned voice down."

Italy blinked, his eyes trailing to the side of the room, and lighting up with delight a moment later.

"Bella!" he cried, excitedly.

Bellatrix wondered over to his cell and scowled at him, her eyes flashing with disgust.

"Don't call me that," she growled, reaching into her cloak pocket and pulling out her wand. She pointed it at the lock and muttered something; the door swung open a moment later.

Italy let out a cry of excitement. "Ve, it makes me happy every time I see it happen!"

Bellatrix scoffed and grabbed onto the collar of Italy's shirt, dragging him behind her.

"The walls!"

"Bye Wally!" Italy called out to his 'roommate', receiving a half-sob, half-laugh in response. Italy let out a small giggle.

"Isn't he the best?"

Bellatrix didn't respond, but the scowl on her face grew darker.

"Where are we going?" Italy asked, frowning slightly at Bellatrix's silent state.

"...The Dark Lord requests your presence," the Death Eater muttered a moment later, looking dissatisfied at having to address the nation.

Italy on the other hand looked like a man who had won the lottery. "Morty wants to hang out with me?!" he asked, eagerly. "Yay! He's the best ever!"

Bellatrix blinked. "I said the  _Dark Lord_ you idiot," she spat. "I have no idea who this 'Morty' is."

"It's my nickname for Voldemort!" Italy responded, happily. "I mean 'Lord Voldemort' is such a mouthful, and so is the 'Dark Lord' - Morty is so much better, don't you think!"

Bellatrix let out an indignant snarl. "You disrespectful fool!" she snarled.

"Ve - is that a complement?" Italy asked, cocking his head to the side in confusion. He then smiled. "Oh Bella, everyone is so nice to me here! I'm going to love you all as much as I love Ger - er, Ludwig - and let me tell you, that's saying something!"

"I'm not complimenting you!" Bellatrix howled. "Why the  _hell_ would I be complimenting you?!"

There was no response. Then...

"Ve - Bella, ca I have some pasta?"

"No!" Bellatrix let out a frustrated howl. "I told you, no pasta!" She paused, her labored breaths calming, and a small, cruel smirk spreading across her lips.

"Why?" she asked, eagerly. "Aren't you enjoying the food we've been giving you?" She let out a small cackle.

Italy thought for a moment. "...It's very nice English food," he said, at last (after all, considering that it was  _English_ food, it probably was of high quality).

Bellatrix's smirk disappeared immediately. "...Just hurry up, you whelp," she snarled. "Don't leave the dark lord waiting."

"Of course not!" Italy cried. "I don't want Morty getting sad!"

Bellatrix's eye twitched.

...

"So...Feliciano."

Italy giggled and beamed. "That's my name!"

Voldemort, resisting the urge to strangle the man in front of him, spat, "what the hell are you?!"

"...Ve?" Italy frowned. "I don't understand."

"What the hell are you?!" Voldemort repeated. "How come you aren't dead?!"

"I'm not dead...because I'm alive?" Italy laughed. "Silly Morty..."

Voldemort's eye twitched.  _"No,_ you imbecile," he snarled. "I tried to kill you before! How is it that you didn't die? You should be dead right now!"

"Huh?" Italy frowned. "But Morty never tried to kill me..."

_"What planet are you living on?!"_ Voldemort snarled. "Of  _course_ I tried to kill you!"

"...Oh." Italy frowned for a moment. "...Well, I'm sure you didn't mean it," he said, at last. "Ludwig's done things when he's angry too, like when he tried to kick me out of his ountry - literally, hehe - but he's so nice too! He let's me sleep with him, and he makes me lots of nice German food! I don't like it as much as pasta, but it's still nice of him, don't you think? Plus, he's all big and muscly, and he protects me, even if he does complain about it...I don't care though, because he's my best friend ever! Don't you thinks he's amazing Morty?"

Voldemort stared.

"...I. Want. To Know. How. You. Are. Still. Alive," he snarled, his eyes flashing with a psychotic rage.  _"NOW!"_

Italy blinked, looking confused. "Why?"

_"SO I CAN BECOME INVINCIBLE!"_

"...Huh?"

Voldemort took a deep breath, reminding himself of exactly  _why_ he needed to keep the idiot alive.

 


	5. Don't Have Friends That Are Broke

 

"So, now what?" Romano asked, as he and Germany headed down the street. "We aren't seriously going to head over to a police station, are we?"

"No..." Germany shook his head. "If Italy truly had been arrested, his boss would have bailed him out, and he'd be back annoying me by now. He must be somewhere else..."

Romano frowned. "But where?"

Both of them paused, thinking hard for a long moment.

"...Dammit, this is why I always hated detectives..." Romano muttered.

...

"So what was so important that you asked us to come over immediately?" France demanded, as Prussia dragged both him and Spain into the house.

"Yes," Spain agreed, "I was in the middle of some very important work!"

Prussia let out a snort. "You're actually working?"

"Of course!" Spain said, almost indignantly. "Valentines Day is coming up! I need something special for Lovi!"

"...Right." Prussia rolled his eyes. "Anyway, the reason I called you guys over is because - get this - Italy's missing!"

The eager grin on his face contrasted starkly with the words he had just uttered.

Both France's and Spain's eyes widened.

"What?!" France exclaimed, alarm coating his words. "Italy has gone missing?!"

"Lovi's brother has gone missing?!" Spain wailed, sounding horrified. "Oh no - I must find him and comfort him!"

"Exactly!" Prussia agreed. "That's what we gotta do - find Italy -"

"No, no!" Spain cried, cutting him off. "I must find  _Lovi!_ He must be distraught - oh, my poor, sweet tomato..."

"Spain!" Prussia snarled, sounding irritated at the interruption. "Pay attention - Italy's gone missing! We need to go and find him so I can laugh in my brother's face!"

"But -"

"Romano's gone too!"

Spain paled, actually swaying on his feet; Prussia mentally smashed his head on a table. Why did his friends have to be such dramatic  _losers_ compared to his awesome self?!

"Lovi's... _MISSING?!"_ Spain shrieked, clutching an his throat in horror.

"...Well, no." Spain relaxed immediately; Prussia rolled his eyes. "But he's gone looking for Italy," he added, hoping to still hold Spain's attention. "And who  _knows_ when he might come back?"

Spain lowered his eyes slightly. "Well...I'm sure he'll come back eventually..."

"Did I mention he went with my brother?" Prussia interjected, smirking slightly. "Hmm...those two all alone in er...England...you know what they say about England." He leaned forward, his eyes narrowed secretively. "It's er...very...you know..."

"No, I don't know!" Spain wailed.

Prussia silently congratulated himself; oh, he  _totally_ deserved a medal for this. Fuck Tom Cruise and all those big shot American actors;  _Gilbert Beilschmidt_ was the real deal!

"Oh my..." France sighed, dreamily. "Germany and Romano shall elope and make sweet, beautiful love!"

"...Yeah that," Prussia agreed.

_"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"_ Spain shrieked in horror.

...

Around an hour later, when they had finally managed to get Spain calmed down, Prussia stared intently at his two best friends.

"So," he pressed, "stop being unawesome and tell me - are you guys going to help out or not?"

"Of course!" France agreed. "There is no way that we could leave poor Italy too suffer on his own!"

"My Lovi!" Spain whimpered.

Prussia's expression brightened. "Awesome!" he said, eagerly. "Well, you guys can both pay for you own tickets, and there's no need to fight over who pays for mine - since I'm the most awesome friend  _ever_ I'll let you go half-half and get me a First Class ticket. How does that sound?"

France coughed, awkwardly.

"What?" Prussia asked, sounding annoyed.

"Well um...Prussia, I don't exactly  _have_ any money..." France said, slowly.

"What do you mean?!" Prussia demanded, incredulously. "You're  _France!_ You're out dining in some snail-infested restaurant every  _day,_ and let me tell you from personal-experience, those things are  _not_ cheap!"

"Exactly! That's why my boss froze my bank account." France let out a bitter sigh.

"You're kidding me!" Prussia groaned.

"I wish I was," France muttered. "According to the man, I've been wasting too much money on useless things. My gourmet frog legs aren't useless!"

Prussia silently gagged at the thought.

"I've been visiting the soup kitchen for the past two weeks," France spat. "Do you know what that  _does_ to a person like me?! I'm too fabulous for this indignity!"

"...Yeah, sure." Prussia turned to Spain. "Spain, buddy -  _tell me_ you're more awesome than France and actually have some cash."

"Glad to see that you're so concerned in regards to my well-being," France sniffed.

"Yeah, I'm awesome," Prussia muttered, distractedly. "Well, Spain?"

Spain shifted and avoided his friends' gaze. Prussia clenched his jaw.

"I'm sorry!" the Spaniard cried, sounding embarrassed. "It's just...I've spent all my money. Well, that and more...I'm actually in debt right now."

"What the fuck did you -"

"Valentines Day's coming up."

Both France and Prussia stared at him.

"...Lovi deserves the best, alright?!" Spain flushed a deep red.

"...Come on, you guys completely suck," Prussia moaned. "Don't you have  _anything?!_ I'm sure if you both chip in you'll be able to afford one ticket - I'll even settle for Business Class! You two don't have to come or anything!"

"...You want us to waste whatever money we have left on a ticket for  _you?"_ France asked, slowly.

"Of course!" Prussia responded. "I mean, why wouldn't you? It should be a privilege! And if only one of us can go along..."

"But, of course we're coming!" Spain interjected, hurriedly. "I can't leave my poor Lovi all alone out there - he needs me!"

"We'll just find someone else who can pay for tickets," France reasoned.

"...But that's the  _only_ goddamned reason that I asked you to come!" Prussia howled. "Why the fuck did I waste my time waiting around for you then?!"

Both France and Spain stared at him.

"...Sometimes I wonder why I'm even friends with you," France sighed.

Prussia rolled his eyes and headed over to a nearby phone, which was mounted on the wall.

"Who are you calling?" Spain questioned, inquisitively.

"Specs," Prussia responded, as he jabbed his fingers against various buttons. "The loser hardly ever spends any of his cash - he must have mountains of it stacked up in that unawesome house of his." He held the phone up to his ear and, with a grin, added, "I'll just have to push him until he breaks - should work as long as Liz isn't in close proximity."

...

Germany and Romano stared at each other, their eyes narrowed. The crowded cafe that they were currently seated in didn't seem to bother of them; both were lost in thought.

"So..." Germany mumbled, his brow furrowing slightly. "Where was the last place that we saw Italy?" He took an absent-minded sip of his coffee, gagging slightly at the bitter taste.

"Dunno about you Potato Bastard, but the last time I saw him was during that meeting," Romano responded. "After he disappeared with you," he added a moment later, almost accusingly.

"No, that was the last time I saw him too," Germany responded, choosing to ignore Romano's tone. "He said something about wanting to make new friends, and then disappeared."

Both of them stared at each other for a moment longer.

"Fuck," Romano cursed, his expression darkening (which really wasn't a rare occurrence for him - it was his most predominant facial expression, after all). "He could be anywhere right now, couldn't he?"

"It's like searching for a needle in a haystack," Germany sighed.

There was a moment of silence; both nations took sips from their coffees, immediately spitting the liquid out in simultaneous movements.

"The fuck did they put in here?!" Romano demanded, angrily.

"It's England," Germany responded, monotonously.

Romano's jaw clenched.

"...Do you want to go home?" the Italian nation asked, a moment later. His eyes narrowed abruptly as soon as the words left his mouth, and he hastily added, " _not_ that I need to ask you, or anything."

"No," Germany responded, "Prussia would never let me hear the end of it." He scowled. "But... _something_ has to be done for the sake of this country - who knows what Italy could do to these poor people."

Both nations shuddered at the thought.


End file.
